It Takes Two
by amythis
Summary: On New Year's Eve 1991, Angela and Tony discuss their romantic pasts.
1. Me and You

Angela smiled as she came down the staircase and entered the living room, where Tony had set up the little table with the white cloth, the candles, the best dishes, and the Christmas vase full of pink roses. "Everything looks just lovely!"

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Yeah."

Angela was in one of her little black dresses, a far cry from the demure pink silk dress she wore for their second anniversary, five and a half years before. "Thank you. I hope, well, you know."

Tony nodded. "You hope nothing and no one interrupts us tonight."

"Yes." Sam was at a New Year's party and Mona had a date, so presumably neither would drop by. As for Jonathan, he was on an overnight ski trip. (Heavily chaperoned, Angela had checked.) "You have to admit, our track record isn't very good."

"Yeah, but it's almost a new year. Maybe our luck will change."

"I hope so."

She came over and he pulled out her chair for her. Then he settled into the chair not quite opposite her. If they leaned forward, they could kiss.

The food was good, as always since Tony began cooking for her. The conversation was relaxed and warm. Then towards the end, he leaned forward and kissed her, a long, slow kiss.

She heard an odd sound, like something falling into liquid. She pulled away. "Tony, did you hear that?"  
>"Hear what, Angela?"<p>

"I thought I heard—Did you put something in my champagne glass?"

"Angela! I would never slip something into your drink!"

"No, I mean—Tony, is that a ring?"

"Could be. Why don't you fish it out?"

Her dress was sleeveless (and strapless and off the shoulder), so she didn't have to push up her cuffs to reach into the glass and pull out what appeared to be a diamond ring. "Tony!"

"You like it? It doesn't belong to your mother or anyone, so you can keep this one."

"Oh, Tony, I love it!" She dried it on a cloth napkin and was about to slip it on, but then she said, "Oh, I think you're supposed to."

"With pleasure."

He took her left hand in his to steady it, because hers was shaking a little, then with his right hand he slowly and carefully moved the white-gold circlet onto her ring finger. "How's that feel?"

"It fits perfectly."

"I thought it would. I borrowed one of your rings and took it to the jeweler."  
>"Without me noticing?"<p>

"You were at work. Oh, and the jeweler asked how I like my watch."

"Did you go to Feldman's? And how did he know you were you?"

"When I asked for an engraving, he recognized the names. Also, my hair still hadn't grown out completely from that bad cut I got this summer."

She stroked his hair. "It looks fine now."  
>"Thanks."<p>

"So what does my engraving say?"

"Why don't you read it?"

"Oh, I don't want to take it off yet!"

"You really do like it, Angela? You're not just being polite?"

"Of course I like it!"

"Well, I know it's not the fanciest ring, or the biggest diamond. But when we get married, I'll be out of school and I'll have a good teaching job, so I can get you a wedding ring you deserve."

"Tony, the cost doesn't matter. This is tasteful and heart-felt." The diamond was heart-shaped, but that wasn't what she meant.

"Thank you. If nothing else, I hope you really feel engaged now."

"I've felt that way ever since you accepted my proposal."

"Hey, wait a minute, maybe you should be giving me an engagement ring."

"I can if you like, but I doubt Feldman's would be open on New Year's Eve."

"That's OK. This watch was sort of like you pinning me, asking me to go steady."

She smiled. "I suppose it was."

He took off the watch and turned it over. "_It's time I told you I love you,_" he read aloud. "That was a tough dedication to beat."

"Now you've got me really curious." She tried to take off the ring, but it wouldn't budge.

"Is it stuck?"

"Yes, you got it on there really tight."

"I guess I should've let you read the inscription first."

"Yes."

"You could try running it under water. Or over the flame of a candle."

"I've got an idea." She dipped her hand back into her champagne glass and wiggled her fingers as best she could in the narrow space. The ring slid off after awhile, but when she tried to remove her hand from the glass, it was stuck.

Tony put his head in his hands. "Oh, no! We're gonna end up in the emergency room tonight, aren't we?"

"Don't panic. Can you drink the champagne?"

"Out of the glass, with your hand in it?"

"Yes."

"Isn't it supposed to be out of your slipper?"

"Tony!"

"OK, Angela, hold on." He scooted his chair closer and raised her glass, and her hand, to his lips. He drank the champagne down, trying not to spill it, and trying not to swallow her ring.

When the glass had only her hand in it, he said, "Let me try something." He kissed her hand, wet kisses, tasting the champagne on her skin. He felt a little dizzy.

Her hand emerged, the ring in her palm, but she stroked his face with her thumb. "Thank you, Tony," she murmured.

"Don't mention it."

They looked into each other's eyes but then her curiosity got the best of her and she held up the ring to the candlelight. She read aloud, _"__Our love affair, may it always be/ __A flame to burn through eternity._" She looked up. "Vic Damone?"

"And Sinatra, among others. 'An Affair to Remember.' Not that we're having an affair, but you know."

"Yes. Do you want to put it back on me?"

"Yeah." He slid the ring back on her finger, so slowly this time it was like a tease. "I could get used to this."

She bit her lip and nodded.

"Um, Angela, maybe we should talk about sex."

"You want to have sex tonight?"

"No, I want to talk about it tonight. Instead of waiting till the night that we have it."

"Oh. What exactly did you want to discuss about sex?"

"Well, not for nothin', we've had some jealousy issues in the past."

"But it's different now that we're together."

"I know, but they may come up in a new way, when we're, you know."

"In bed together?"

"Yeah. I mean, not to brag, I'm probably gonna be the best you ever had."

She smiled again. "Probably."

"But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna wonder if you're remembering and comparing me to your past men."

"I see."

"And you probably will wonder, too, right?"

"Yes, probably."

"So, since this wouldn't be a good conversation that night, I thought we'd just get it out of the way now, while we're alone and hopefully uninterrupted."

"You want to talk about our pasts?"

"If, if, you know, if you do?"

"I think maybe we should."

"Good."

"How much detail do you want?"

"Not that much. Just who you've been with, and generally how it went."

"Do you want me to go first?"

"Well, again not bragging, but you probably have less 'past' than I do."

She sighed. "My 'past' is mostly a matter of why I didn't have more sex."


	2. One Can Have a Dream, Baby

The dishes were in the washer. But the candles, roses, and the rest remained on the little table as Tony and Angela snuggled on the couch. Without discussing it, they knew that he needed to hold her as she told him of her love life, and her life without love. He listened intently, interrupting as little as possible with words, although sometimes he'd stroke her bare arms or her face or her hair, in affection or comfort.

…

You saw me at 13, gawky and shy, with a mouth full of braces. I know we're telling our sexual histories, but I have to start with that first kiss. Anthony, you, saw something in me that none of the boys back home did. So I gave myself a glamorous name, idealized you and our summer romance.

But then it was back to reality. A world where I had few friends, and no boyfriends. The only man who loved me unconditionally, then and for a long time, was my father. I idealized him, too. Mother may've thought he neglected us for work, but I saw no flaws.

And then he died, when I was 14. And the world turned upside-down. There was no longer someone telling me how wonderful I was, believing I could do anything. Instead, there was my beautiful, popular mother, whose beauty and popularity I could never match. And it was like I was the mother, the responsible one. I grew up quickly in the sense of paying bills, taking care of things.

But I was still a child when it came to boys. The memory of that first kiss faded and yet haunted me, like the "Ingrid" I pretended to be was a character from a book or a movie. And, oh, how I loved old movies! And Jane Austen. I imagined myself as Elizabeth Bennet charming Darcy, although I knew I was the stodgy one. But that opposites-attract theme attracted me. In high school, I had a crush on Jake the Snake, the bad boy whom I wanted and feared, although he never noticed me.

I rarely dated. You know what happened with prom night. And my other teen disasters. After Daddy died, I overate, which was bad for my complexion as well as my weight, which made me less attractive in the Twiggy era. And the glasses didn't help. Sometimes I'd dye my hair blonde, like the summer I met you, but mostly it was mousy brown.

It was a relief in a way when I went to Montague Academy. I thought my lack of success with boys would matter less at an all-girls school, but the other girls soon noticed that I never had visitors from our "brother school," and no beau back home. Soon, I was back to my old habits of overeating, and studying, and escaping into books and movies.

My Aunt Barbara, Christy's mother, who'd been shy and mousy as a teenager, would tell me that things would be better when I got to college, that smart girls would be appreciated there. But it wasn't. I wasn't.

It didn't help that my roommate Trish was pretty and popular. And she had a way of undercutting me. It reminded me of Mother, but without the sense that she loved me underneath the sarcasm.

So it was back to food, studies, books, and movies. I thought my whole life would be like that, except that I'd substitute work for studies someday.

And then in the Spring of my freshman year, I met Brian.

["Brian Thomas?" Tony had to ask.]

Yes, Brian Thomas. Some of it may've been that he was the first man to see me as desirable, but I was also won over by his poetry of course. I made him into my very own poet knight. So I let him sweep me away, to Las Vegas. On Spring Break, so I wouldn't miss any classes.

[And you, you married him. Did you, um, was he your first?]

No, although I thought he was going to be. But he got distracted by the gambling. I was only 18, well, almost 19, so I ended up waiting alone in our hotel room. When he finally showed up, he was drunk. After a little necking and footsy, he passed out.

By morning, I'd come to my senses. He wanted to make a go of our marriage, but I insisted on an annulment. Little did I know that, virgin bride or not, I was going to be married to him for another twenty years, one of Cupid's little jokes on me.

I never told Mother, or Trish, or anyone about him. He was my little secret, in a different way than Anthony. Brian meant that someone had sort of wanted me, and he'd offered me more passion than anyone else.

On the surface, I was still shy, insecure, mousy, fat Angela. But inside, I knew that I had poetry in my soul, and maybe someday the right man would discover it.

That summer I went to Woodstock, yes, with my textbooks. I was taking summer classes so I could graduate early, and I wouldn't let anything stand in the way of that, but I also wondered what I was missing. Mother was in tune with the '60s more than I was, free love and all, but I wasn't indifferent to it. Still, I knew that I wanted to be part of the business world, unfashionable though that was.

It was my Marketing classes I enjoyed most. After Brian, I understood how the right words could move people. Maybe getting them to buy laxatives isn't as noble as opening their hearts to love or their minds to wisdom, but it has its place.

And I was good, damn good. For the first time since my father died, I was getting unconditional praise. I imagined winning over clients with my eloquence. And I was eloquent. I still could hardly say hello to a cute man, but I could think of jingles and slogans that stuck in people's heads.

Even as the decade turned to the '70s, advertising was a man's world. The era of the three-martini lunch had come to an end, but the only women you saw in an advertising agency were models and secretaries.

My friend, Trish, not my first roommate, but the other Trish—

[The one with the modeling agency?]

Yes. She grew up poor and she was supporting herself in college with acting and modeling jobs. Although I was the brunette, she was the one who had a chance at the Marlo Thomas _That Girl_ life that seemed the height of glamour and success then.

After college, we became roommates in New York City. Ann Marie could afford a fabulous apartment on her own, but we couldn't. (Nanna offered to pay for everything, but I wanted to support myself.) That Trish was a much better roommate than the first Trish. She was fun to live with. And she could cook and clean, and she never put me down, so it was better than living with Mother.

I started as a copywriter at Wallace and McQuade. This was, oh, '71, so I was still only 21. It wasn't easy being a 21-year-old virgin in New York at that time, but since I still didn't date much, and I was still plain, it honestly didn't come up much. If men had wanted to have sex with me, then they might've been freaked out to find out I was a virgin. Or they might've thought it was sweet, if old-fashioned, but it was a moot point.

I think my plainness helped me at work at first. Who was going to feel threatened by this quiet fat girl in glasses? I thought of myself as a feminist by then, but I didn't exactly come across as a ball-buster. In fact, I was sort of invisible. Not quite a woman, but not a rival like a man would be.

But under Trish's gentle influence, I started eating healthier and caring more about my appearance. I lost weight, my complexion cleared up. I got contact lenses. She showed me how to wear clothes, although I generally covered up as much as I could, preferring maxi-skirts to miniskirts. Mother still made her little remarks when I visited home, but at some point it became about how skinny I was, rather than how fat.

And as I looked better, although still more presentable than pretty, I got more attention and respect at work. Trish showed me that I was my own product and that I had to promote myself if I wanted a job promotion.

None of this happened overnight but it seems quick looking back. And Trish and I lived together only a year before she got married and had a baby. The marriage didn't work out, but by the time she was single again, I wasn't.

I was making enough money that I could just barely afford the apartment on my own, especially with the money I was saving on food. I was certainly using food less for comfort as I gained more satisfaction through work.

But satisfaction with men? Well, that still eluded me. I didn't want to be swept away like with Brian, until and unless I was sure that the man would be worth it. And the men I met on Madison Avenue were not exactly poet knights, although some of them could rhyme.

I dated the way other girls had in high school: casually and for companionship, not for anything serious. And I thought maybe that was for the best. I'd be a career gal all my life. I'd save my romantic fantasies for the nights I stayed in, reading Jane Austen and watching old movies on the color television I bought with my own money.

And then in 1974, a bright, handsome, impetuous man entered my life. He was shooting a cat food commercial, one of my accounts at the agency. The cat was a prima donna, and unfortunately so was Michael.

[Michael Bower?]

Yes, Michael Bower. He was already a documentary film-maker, but he had bills to pay, and commercials were the fastest way, although he thought they were beneath him. I got fed up with him, and the cat. I had the trainer give the cat tranquilizers, but there was nothing I could do about Mr. Bower. I told him I thought he didn't have enough talent to justify his arrogance.

[Oo, ouch!]

Yes. So he sent me flowers the next day. I'd thought I'd lost the account, but I kept it, and got a promotion. And a boyfriend, my first serious boyfriend, at 24. So of course I idealized him, although we still bickered. But, oh, the making up!

[Did you, well, when did you, or did you wait?]

Oh, I wanted to be with him! And we came close one night, but when he realized I was a virgin, he backed off, sort of. He joked, "Well, I guess I'd better marry you then."

It wasn't a very romantic proposal, but it was a proposal, sort of. The more he thought about it, the more he decided he was serious. And I loved him and I thought this was what we were supposed to do. In a way though, I was still too young to get married, even if a bit more wise to the world than I was six years before.

Mother tried to warn me. But I thought she was saying I should sleep around, try many men before settling down with one. And there was a bit of that, but mostly she didn't think Michael was right for me. In some ways, he was my opposite, very different than the men in suits I'd dated before him, but he wasn't the right kind of opposite. The only thing we had in common was neither of us was domestic.

Oh, I tried, believe me I tried, especially when I was pregnant and then when Jonathan was a baby. I cut back on my hours at the agency, even though I knew that I was confirming what some men thought about women in the business world, that a husband and a baby would be much more important than a job. I couldn't make anyone, even Mother, understand that I wanted it all—the job and the baby and the husband.

I still loved the job. And I loved my baby so much! But my husband, well, that was harder.

We had waited for our wedding night. You have to understand, I was 25 and for half my life I'd dreamed of romance, and had so little of it in reality. No one could have lived up to that. So I don't blame him entirely.

He was passionate but impatient. Self-centered. The other women he'd been with had had experience, known how to please him, how to tell him how to please them. I'd heard of the female orgasm but it seemed mythical. And it stayed mythical for awhile.

[Oh, Baby, I wish I'd been the one. I wish I'd been your first!]

When, Tony? By the time I moved to New York, you were married. And I wasn't exactly your type then.

Anyway, it wasn't bad, but it wasn't good. It gradually got better. But everything else started to fall apart.

Michael got more and more of the assignments he wanted, exotic, adventurous assignments. Well, I was no homebody, but I wanted a home, and he didn't really. We bought this house when I was pregnant and, yes, he painted _Michael loves Angela_ on the wall. But it was hidden behind the refrigerator. I dreamed of having two or three children, of really having a home-life, a place to relax after the stress that comes even with a job you love. And he just wanted a home-base.

I kept thinking this was temporary, that he'd settle down. But he was away for longer and longer periods. And I couldn't bring another child into this world, to raise almost on my own.

I didn't notice at first, but Mother was around more and more as Michael was around less and less. She'd grumble about babysitting, but she'd jump to volunteer if a meeting ran late and the sitter had to get home. I tried different housekeepers but, like Michael, they never stayed for very long. Mother and Jonathan were the constants. It wasn't the family I imagined, but it was mine.

I grew more and more successful. I thought Michael would be proud of me, but he took it as me trying to overshadow him. Me, the mousy former Angela Robinson!

I was using his last name professionally, and otherwise of course. We married early enough in my career that that became the name I was known under. There were still men who didn't take me seriously, but enough did. And I kept moving up and up.

And then Michael moved out. We didn't make an official decision to become separated. We argued the day he left, but that had happened with other departures. This time though, he was gone longer than before, and after ten years with him and without him, I had had enough.

And meanwhile, I met another man.

[Oh, yeah?]

Grant Paxton.

[Oh, right, Grant.]

Now, although I was married, bigamously as it turned out, I didn't feel very married by then. Grant was one of the few men who wasn't threatened by my success, because he was even more successful. We flirted, innocently enough at first. We were very discreet in the office of course. I knew exactly what the men at the agency would think of me if they found out.

I decided it was time to file for divorce. I hoped it could be settled quickly and then I could pursue things with Grant. But things with Grant started to move more quickly than I expected.

And meanwhile I met another man.

[Busy lady.]

Yes. He was a Jiminy Cricket who, although far from celibate himself, liked to stick his broken Roman nose into my love life. He was also, improbably, my housekeeper. After some convincing from Mother, and some charming from him, I wanted him to look after the house, and Jonathan, but he also started looking after, and out for, me.

I didn't want this, and yet I found myself taking his advice nonetheless. He was the first man since Daddy who was protective of me. And, although I now had a very tough, professional image at work, I still didn't have much confidence about, or knowledge of, men and romance.

I was 34 and I still had seen only my husband naked, and that not till our wedding night. No one else, not counting doctors and nurses, had ever seen me naked either, but I wasn't like Mother. I wasn't proud of my body. I still covered it up as much as fashion allowed.

And then one day, "Jiminy" saw me naked. It was purely by accident, but I was furious, humiliated. A man I wasn't even dating saw all my flaws!

[What flaws?]

You'll see them again soon, with seven or eight years of extra flaws.

[I can't wait!]

Tony, stop grinning!

[Angela, from what I remember—]

With your lousy memory.

[You were perfect. You were just like Botticelli's _Venus_, except your hair was up.]

So that's why you like it up!

[No, that's not why!]

Now you're blushing.

[Go on with your story.]

Where was I?

[You were 34 and practically a bigamous adulteress, but the only two men who'd ever seen you naked were your husband and your housekeeper, who was also the first boy you kissed, although neither of you knew that at that point.]

Right. How about I take a break and you start telling me about your past?

[That might take awhile.]

I've got all night, Tony….


	3. Two Can Make That Dream So Real

Tony went to the bathroom before launching into his story. He'd thought, when he suggested that they talk about their "pasts," that it would be a quick accounting, not the narrative that Angela's filling in the gap between the night he first kissed her and the day he saw her naked had turned out to be.

He didn't plan to get nearly as detailed, but he certainly had been with more than one person by the time they met as adults.

Angela knew that there was nothing in her story of the first twenty years of her slow, gradual romantic awakening that could make Tony jealous. But it had still been hard to talk about, reliving those years of loneliness, pain, and confusion. It was good to take a break from it, although she knew that Tony would give her more cause for jealousy when he told of the days of his youth. But she did want to know. She loved him and she was glad that they were able to get this out in the open.

When he returned, they held hands but didn't cuddle. She knew he wouldn't need comforting, as she had, but she was prepared to listen as quietly as he had.

…

Well, I guess I have to go back to that first kiss, too. Because, OK, yeah, I did it on a bet. I'm not proud of that, but I was just a stupid kid. Still, I must've been a secret romantic, because I carved "Ingrid's" name on the rock.

And she haunted me. I mean, I wasn't obsessed with her. But she was there in the back of my mind for years. I'd compare other girls to her. I guess some of them were technically better kissers, but they never gave me that feeling that she did. Well, you know, a first kiss is pretty special. And I'd wonder what she looked like when the braces came off, and I'd think of how great she smelled. I didn't know it was bug spray of course. Or how good her natural scent would be when she grew up.

[Oh, Tony!]

But at the same time, well, she wasn't exactly attainable. I forgot her name and I figured she wouldn't have had anything to do with me if we ran into each other in the world outside camp. And what were the odds I'd see her again anyway?

Years went by. I became a teenager. The '60s got a little wilder every year, and so did I, although part of me was the good Catholic boy my grandfather had wanted me to be. He died a couple years after my first kiss. He'd helped raise me after I lost my mother. Now it was just me and my dad, but with the extended family visiting a lot. And Mrs. Rossini playing "aunt" as much as she could.

Not counting Ingrid, who was in her own special category, there were three kind of girls I knew. The bra-less hippie girls I'd meet at protests, and then the two kinds of Brooklyn girls. Even when you were only fourteen or fifteen, especially at that time, there were the girls you fooled around with and the ones you might want to marry someday.

Tanya Stromball wasn't a hippie, but she'd go bra-less if she wanted my attention. Or sometimes she'd wear a bra just to let me undo it. I was crazy about her! Or her body anyway. Whenever the priest talked about lust, I felt like he was talking about me and Tanya. But sinning felt so good!

[Tanya, Tanya, your little lasagna.]

I'm sorry, Angela, I'm getting too detailed, huh?

[No, go on. I'm going to be jealous anyway.]

OK. Well, she was my first. I was sixteen. I'd been kissing girls for five years by then, and Ingrid was still my favorite, but I could do all this other stuff with Tanya that I could never do with Ingrid. And Ingrid was like a dream by then, while Tanya was right in front of me.

[What was your first time like?]

You really wanna know?

[Yes.]

It was good. I mean, I wasn't very good at it, but it felt so good, I didn't care. And she seemed to like it. We got better at it.

It's just, well, that's all there was. I mean, yeah, we'd go to the movies or bowling or whatever, but if we weren't at least necking, she got bored. We never had anything to talk about.

And then in my neighborhood, even with a girl like Tanya, if you dated too long, everyone started wanting to marry you off, and I couldn't see myself spending my life waking up with Tanya, coming home to Tanya, from whatever job I was gonna end up with.

Also, at that point, I was starting to think about playing baseball professionally, and I couldn't see Tanya fitting into that life either.

Luckily, because we were only sixteen, the marriage pressure wasn't too bad, but I knew I had to break up with her before one day we were eighteen and still dating.

It turned out, she was getting bored with me. Not in bed, but otherwise. Well, even in bed, she said she wanted someone new, someone different, maybe someone better.

And then—do the Benedetti twins count twice?

[Of course, Tony. Unless they were Siamese.]

No, I mean, they were both before and after Marie. Well, anyway, Hedde and Letty were my #2 and #3. I didn't even realize at first. I thought I was just dating one girl who never got tired. And, no, in case you were wondering, I was never with them at the same time.

[No, I wasn't wondering.]

Well, everyone else has. Anyway, they were fun, and they never got jealous of each other, so that was nice. But again, not much conversation.

And with the hippie girls, well, I made out with some, but I didn't want any one-night stands. So that had its limits. It felt comfortable being in bed with Brooklyn girls, Italian ones I mean, and I figured that was what I'd have the rest of my life.

Except, there was also this old-fashioned part of me, the part that wanted a wife and kids. I was still so young. I figured I'd have my fun now and then settle down later.

I did try asking out a nice girl, Francesca Candino. But Frankie thought I was too macho.

And there was this other nice neighborhood girl, Marie Milano. I called her M & Ms, which she hated. She was less than a year younger than I was, but she was a short little thing. But feisty! She had a mouth on her! Not vulgar like her father, but she didn't mince words.

She could also be really sweet, and she was a great cook. We'd argue about who was a better cook, friendly arguments. We'd take turns making dinner for each other. I don't even think we knew we were dating at first.

And then one night I was helping her do the dishes. Frankie might think I was too macho, and other girls might think it was weird that I did the housework and cooking and everything at home, but Marie just expected me to pitch in, like it was normal male behavior in our neighborhood. Which in 1969, it wasn't.

And we were kind of flirting, not like I usually flirted with other girls, but it just grew out of the situation. It felt relaxed, comfortable, right. And then I kissed her.

And for the first time, somebody topped Ingrid.

[I guess that's flattering, that a faded memory of an awkward, inexperienced thirteen-year-old with braces and bug spray lasted so long.]

Yeah. And not to say that the grown-up Ingrid, who was then probably playing footsy with her drunk poet bridegroom, couldn't have held her own in a kissing contest against Marie. But Marie at sixteen wasn't much more experienced than Ingrid.

Not that there weren't guys who wanted to kiss Marie. She was beautiful and confident and all those other things I told you about. But I was the one she let kiss her again and again.

I could talk to her like I never could to a girl before. (You know Ingrid and I didn't say much that night at Make-Out Rock.) Marie loved baseball and encouraged me to try out for the minors when I graduated high school.

Part of me wished I could go to college, maybe get an athletic scholarship. But that wasn't realistic. And I loved baseball, so why wait?

And I felt that way about Marie, too. Well, we waited. There was no question that we wouldn't go to bed before we got married, but I knew that I wanted to marry young. So as soon as she graduated from high school, I proposed. She accepted right away, and we ended up eloping.

I knew the basics of sex by then. She knew about my past, all three casual girlfriends. She kind of wished I'd waited for her, but she was also kind of glad that we weren't two fumbling virgins. I did my best to make it good for her, to give her the kind of wedding night she dreamed of, even though we didn't have the big church wedding.

As for me, it was amazing! I mean, Tanya and the twins had technique and sometimes passion, but they hadn't prepared me for what it's like to be in bed with someone where you're not just crazy about each other's bodies. So even though I was 19 and not a virgin, I made love for the first time that night.

I hated being on the road, being away from her, but the reunions were always worth it. I can kind of understand what Michael was going through with you later, except I did want a home. It's just, I had a wife, and before long a daughter, to support. It never occurred to me, and probably not to Marie either, that she could get a job, help out financially. Her job was taking care of the baby, and the apartment, and me when I was home, although I still did more housework than any other husband in the neighborhood.

And yeah, it was the '70s, the Mary Tyler Moore era, but that had nothing to do with the world we lived in. It was still the '50s in Brooklyn in a lot of ways. And we were happy. At least I thought we were.

But I found out later—well, I told you about the art lessons. Marie kept that secret. She also kept her health issues as much of a secret as she could.

When we first got married, everyone, me and Marie included, expected us to have a big family. But there were complications, and, well, although the priest probably wouldn't have approved, we used contraceptives. I'd used condoms with Tanya and the twins, and I went back to using them after the doctor said it would be dangerous for Marie to risk another pregnancy. And she went on the Pill, one thing she had in common with Mary Richards.

In a way, it was nice. We could just concentrate on the lovemaking, not wonder if we were making another baby. But I know we both wished that Sam could have little brothers and sisters.

[I'm sorry, Tony. That must've been hard on both of you.]

Yeah. But I guess it was sort of like you and Michael. I wasn't home much, and Marie would've been raising the kids on her own, like she mostly had to do with Sam. Except that you couldn't really take Jonathan to the jungle, and Marie could take Sam to some of my closer away games.

And I worked my way up to the majors, the Cardinals, the big time. Marie was very proud of me. And she didn't want to spoil my happiness by telling me what she was going through.

She confided in Mrs. Rossini, who couldn't keep this secret. I was shocked, stunned, and incredibly guilty when I found out she—

[Tony, it's all right, we don't have to talk about this. Another time.]

No, it's part of the story. She had uterine cancer. She had to have a hysterectomy.

[Oh, God, Tony!]

Well, obviously we definitely weren't gonna have more kids then. But I didn't care anymore, I just wanted to keep her alive.

She should've spoken up earlier. Not that it was her fault, but in my darkest moments later, after she was gone, I yelled at her. I mostly blamed myself though. If only I'd been around more, taken good care of her, like I promised Nick.

The, the cancer spread. It ate away at her. And she still kept part of her secret. I guess I was in denial, so I didn't want to believe the worst. You know me, Angela, the eternal optimist.

[It's OK, Tony, you can cry if you want.]

I don't want to cry. I don't want to be telling you this. But you have to understand.

[Say whatever you want to me, Tony. I'm listening.]

I know. Well, I was on the road. Part of me thought _No, don't go. Skip this year. Be with your wife and your little girl. They need you. _But Marie sent me off with a smile, like always.

She was smiling when she died in her sleep. She must've been in incredible pain, but they told me she was smiling like the Madonna.

It happened suddenly. There was no way I could get back in time to be with her, to hold her hand, to say goodbye. But I got back in time for the funeral.

I could've taken a leave from the Cards, but I thought _No, I need to lose myself in baseball. Make money for my little girl. Mrs. Rossini and Pop will keep looking after her, and Sam doesn't need to see her daddy cryin'._

So I went back, and Betty was waiting for me. You remember Betty?

[The cheap red-haired groupie?]

Well, yeah. But she seemed so sweet, so sympathetic then. She'd been after me for awhile, but I stayed faithful to Marie, no matter how many women threw themselves at me. Not just because adultery is a sin, but because there was no woman I could want as much as Marie, because there was no woman I could love as much as Marie.

But it wasn't about love with Betty. It was just about our bodies, in a different way than with Tanya. When I was a teenager, it was all about fun. Now, ten years later, after losing Marie, it was about escaping from my heart, my brain, just being a body. I'd spend my days pushing my body to the limit on the field, and my nights, well—

[And she was your number five?]

Well, yeah. And she pushed buttons in me I hardly knew I had. For the first time, I was the one who was very inexperienced in comparison. I learned a lot about women, and myself, from her.

[And how was she as a conversationalist?]

Not brilliant. But I didn't want clever conversation.

[You didn't want to work that hard?]

I didn't even want someone that I could talk to. I didn't want to mourn Marie, deal with my grief and guilt, although this was just adding to it. That's why I felt so weird seeing Betty in St. Louis a couple years ago.

After Betty, and there was an "after" after awhile, I started to get my "Batman" reputation on the team. I didn't sleep with as many women as the guys thought I did. But I let myself enjoy flirting again, knowing that there was no longer a Marie I could hurt. But I would've given anything to have her back again, to forget about other women.

But I'd had her and I lost her. And that was that. I knew I was never gonna fall in love again. But I was alive and I liked sex, and I didn't want to give it up. So I didn't, but I kept things light. I only went to bed with women where I knew it wasn't gonna go anywhere emotionally, like with the Benedetti twins when I was home in Brooklyn. And I guess in those couple more years I was in the majors, I got up to #10, although I barely remember the second batch of five, and their names don't matter at this point.

And, yeah, somehow for years I remembered Ingrid's bug spray and little details about her that I would've thought I'd forget after Marie and everyone else.

[But not Ingrid's name?]

Well, no. But it wasn't like I wanted to remember much of anything. I was just a body now.

The problem with living as a body is that bodies are as fragile as hearts. I pretended I was tough, invincible. And then I fractured my shoulder.

Suddenly I was no longer a stud jock. I was an unemployed, maybe unemployable, single dad. Thank God for Mrs. Rossini. Not only had she been like a grandmother to Sam, whose real grandmothers died long before she was born, but she brought me into the family business.

Not that driving a fish-truck was glamorous, but it was honest work. And Pop drove a garbage truck, so he joked that this was a step up. I joked back that, at this rate, Sam would be the first woman newspaper truck driver in the neighborhood.

I really got to know Sam in the next four years. She was a great kid, and not just because she was like the best of both me and Marie. She inherited Marie's cute little nose and my pitching arm. And a lot of her was just pure Samantha.

But I worried about her. The neighborhood was rough for me to grow up in, and she was a girl. And I couldn't be at home as much as I wanted.

I dated in those years, still keeping things light. After all, I had to consider whether any woman could be a good stepmother to Sam, although I doubted that. Mrs. Rossini and the other ladies in the neighborhood were always trying to matchmake me, but I said it was too soon, even as years went by.

Even when I dated, I didn't go to bed with all of them. In fact, I think I was with only two new women in that time. So that made an even dozen.

[Maybe you would've done better if you hadn't smelled like fish.]

Very funny, Angela. But, yeah, it didn't help.

I started looking for work in better neighborhoods. I was gonna try for a job as an apartment manager. But I ran into a woman in the lobby who tried to convince me to do something crazy: become a housekeeper for her daughter. She even showed me a picture of the daughter, who was beautiful.

[Oh, really?]

Really. But like I said, it was crazy. But when I told Sam about the job, she loved the idea of living in a house. And I thought _Well, it would definitely get us out of Brooklyn._

I didn't really think about what it'd be like to live with and work for a beautiful woman. I mean, I figured I could keep it professional. Beautiful or not, this wasn't the kind of woman I'd ever dated, or would date. I, both of us, would have our separate personal lives.

Of course, first I had to convince her to hire me, but with some help from her mother Mona, as well as her cute little son Jonathan, I managed it.

So it's my first night in the house, right? I hear noises downstairs. OK, Hazel never had to defend the family from intruders, but then Hazel didn't lift weights. So I rushed downstairs with a bat.

[What would you have brought if you were a former basketball player? A hoop?]

Cute, Angela. Anyway, there's a guy on top of my boss, on the kitchen floor. And it's her boss. But she says they were just picking up a broken plate. And she sends me out of the room.

Now, I don't know this lady too well. I mean, I know she's divorced, or so I thought. And she's very successful, but now I'm wondering how much of her success depends on whether she'll sleep with her boss. And, yeah, I said that I'd never sleep with my boss.

I mean, don't get me wrong, she's gorgeous. A little uptight, despite the divorce and the dating her boss, but still, yeah, if I met her under other circumstances, I'd be tempted. But I would never have done anything to uproot my daughter from our new home.

[Except give unwanted romantic advice.]

Which my boss took. And it paid off. And she still got to go away with her boss later.

But before that happened, Mona's professor asked me out. I'd never dated a girl who'd even been to college before. So that was different.

But before I could see what it was like to date a highly educated woman, I saw another highly educated woman, well, not exactly wearing her cap and gown.

She, you, looked incredible!

[Like Botticelli's _Venus_ with an upsweep?]

Yeah. I mean, I also felt guilty, even if it wasn't entirely my fault. Here we were trying to keep things professional and separate. And part of me wanted to protect you, even from my own lust.

And then the professor started accusing you of all kinds of things, and I thought _Wait a minute. Angela's not just my boss. She's good people. I'd like to be her friend._

[And we started to be, or at least we were on the road to that, although I tried to keep it employer-employee.]

Yeah, and it wasn't always easy, especially the night that guy Mitch seemed to stand you up. I had planned to get together with Tanya.

[Your "bowling night"?]

Yeah. But then I ended up keeping you company.

[And I made you serve dinner when he showed up. I still feel guilty about that!]

It's OK. But it reminded me, no matter how nice a time I had with you earlier, I was still your employee. And we couldn't cross the line. But I was tempted. I actually poured a couple glasses of leftover champagne when I was cleaning up in the kitchen after Mitch left. I was gonna take them out to you, maybe make a nice little toast. But I thought better of it.

[I wish you had.]

It was way too soon for that, Angela.

[We've got leftover champagne now.]

I'll pour us a couple glasses.

[Good. Because we're going to need it for the next part of my story.]


	4. One Can Talk About Bein' in Love

They clinked their glasses.

"To the future," he said.

"To the past," she replied.

…

So, as you must've guessed, Grant was my #2.

[Uh, so how was he?]

Do you really want to know?

[I told you about Betty and everybody.]

Well, in some ways he was better than Michael. He was a very busy man, but when we were together, he was focused on me, in bed and out. He wasn't intense like Michael, and I didn't love him, but it felt good to be in a less stormy relationship.

I was nervous the first time, in a different way than on my honeymoon with Michael. I felt a little more comfortable in my body, and of course I wasn't a virgin, but I was very inexperienced for a woman my age, especially one who'd been married twice. I worried about being compared to other women Grant had been with, and I did feel funny about not being fully divorced, although that wasn't my fault.

Grant did what he could to relax me, and it was good. But we didn't get together as often as I'd hoped.

He said we shouldn't be exclusive, since he couldn't give me the kind of full-time commitment I deserved. Wallace and McQuade was the partnership that mattered to him most.

So I went out with other men. Mitch Davison, Robert Andrew Holmby III, and Harry Dolan. But those were like the simple relationships I had in New York before I met Michael. A little kissing and dancing and such. Also, I was still technically married to Michael, and I didn't think I was cut out for sleeping around.

To be honest, I wanted to wait for someone I was in love with. And then I met Jeffrey, with a J.

[He was a heart-breaker!]

Oh, Tony, I was fond of him, but he didn't break my heart.

[I meant my heart!]

Well, he did play with your emotions, too. And I did think for awhile that I was falling in love. But before things could go too far, you stuck your broken Roman nose into my love life again.

[Well, that time I knew that the guy was no good, that he was telling you that you were special, but he was dating other women. But I didn't know how to tell you, until he put me on the spot.]

Right. And just like with Mother's professor, you put our friendship first.

[Well, of course.]

I don't think we were best friends yet, but we were getting closer. So I was very surprised and maybe a little jealous when Mother told me that you were keeping a woman. And then I found out that you were actually paying for your late father's apartment, because you weren't ready to let go.

[You helped me grieve for him, Angela. And for Marie, too, in a way.]

I hope so. Anyway, I didn't date anyone for awhile after that. Not intentionally, but Grant and I were letting things fizzle out, and I was more cautious after Jeffrey. And then Michael returned.

We argued like always, but I hoped that this would at least mean he'd finally sign the divorce papers. And then, I don't know. We agreed it was over, but then we started kissing. And we ended up in bed.

[Yeah, I remember.]

And again you stuck your nose in.

[And again I was right.]

Well, yes. But I thought he'd changed. And it seemed like I had a chance to save my marriage. And when both you and he thought that you had to leave, well, I didn't like it, but I went along with it. But I missed you so much!

Michael hadn't changed. OK, the sex was better at first, but whenever we talked, we'd start arguing. And he resented my career more than ever, particularly since I was now president of the agency.

Then Michael left, by mutual agreement, signing the divorce papers before he went. I didn't know how to ask you back, especially since you loved your new job with Mrs. Randolf. But Michael took the liberty of asking you, and offering you a big raise. It was worth it.

And then a week later, you and I ended up in bed together. Platonically but, well, you know.

[Yeah, I know.]

Obviously, it was far too soon for anything deliberately romantic to happen. But then a couple months later, well, my birthday came along.

[Yeah.]

I couldn't admit to my best friends, Isabel and Wendy, that I found you cute. I hadn't even fully admitted it to myself. Well, I mean, you were, are, handsome of course. But I kept telling myself you weren't my type. Even tipsy as I was—

[Smashed, Angela.]

OK, smashed. I still was sort of in denial. But I got a little silly with the flour in the kitchen. And you were drunk, too, so you played with me. And then you grabbed me, and it was like we suddenly remembered we weren't kids. And you gave me a kiss that was far more grown-up than my "first grown-up kiss."

[Ay-oh, oh-ay, you kissed me.]

Well, whoever started it, we both were very much in that kiss. And the next morning, I thought that, well, you were my #3. But when I tried to talk about it, you seemed so casual.

[Casual?]

You said it was nice but not a big deal. You were talking about the kiss, but I thought, well.

[Yeah, well, first of all, the kiss was a big deal, but I figured we were both drunk, and we got carried away, and it didn't have to change things. It was a great kiss, obviously in a different way than when we were kids. But if we had—]

Lost each other as friends?

[Yeah. Drunk or sober, preferably sober, it would've been the biggest deal of my life!]

Oh, Tony!

[I mean, it was too early for us. I didn't know it was gonna take so long to get to even this point, or that we'd even get to this point. But, yeah, I think I knew, even at the time, that when and if it ever happened, it was gonna be a bigger deal than Tanya and Betty, and maybe even than Marie.]

Oh, Tony!

[But we're not talking about my sex life right now. It's still your turn.]

Right. It's just they almost overlapped.

[Yeah.]

I wasn't sure how I felt about the possibility of you being my third man, especially since I couldn't remember details. But later, I let myself think about it a little more.

[Yeah?]

Yeah. Not in intimate detail, but more about what it would mean if it ever happened. I'd tell myself you were my employee, off limits. But sleeping with Grant probably blurred my boundaries a little. It's just, we were also developing this wonderful friendship. And you were right, that was a lot to risk losing.

And when you were gone, both during the time Michael sent you away, and then when you and Sam went to Florida on summer vacation, I really missed you. I didn't want you to ever go away permanently. What if we got involved and it didn't work out?

And then it was one thing to sleep with Grant upstate, or even with Michael in my bedroom. But my sleeping with Grant didn't really affect Jonathan. And Jonathan was happy to have his dad around. But if you and I slept together, even if we dated without sleeping together, that would affect Jonathan. And Sam. What if you and I had an ugly break-up and you had to uproot her again? Jonathan would've missed you both so much! I would've missed you so much.

And then we slept together. Not nearly as platonically as we had six months earlier. But more platonically than we could've.

And I was starting to feel a little rejected.

[Rejected?]

Well, I could see you being responsible and not taking advantage of me when I was drunk. But this time I was sober. And I probably would've said yes.

[Yeah, I know.]

So?

[It was still too early. And it's not like all the reasons not to had just disappeared.]

I know. It's just I was starting to wonder if you didn't find me attractive.

[In that "fitted sheet"? In the other half of the pajamas? You kiddin' me? You were plenty attractive. But, again, if we were gonna lose each other as friends, this wasn't how I wanted it to happen. Call me romantic, call me old-fashioned, I thought if we were ever gonna have a first time for more than kissing, it should be special. You deserved that. We deserved that.]

That's sweet. But again, I don't think we expected it to take this long.

[Yeah.]

Of course, you did end up "proposing" to me a month later, when Sam lied to her little friends.

[Oh, right.]

But we did cool things down for awhile. And you ended up matchmaking me with Wally Montgomery. He was nice, but there was no spark there, and clearly you had no reason to be jealous of him.

[I didn't really get jealous of anyone you dated back then. Even with your reunion with Michael, well, I didn't trust the guy, I didn't think he was right for you, but I thought about what I'd give for another chance with Marie. And at that point, I just wanted you to be happy. When I was protective, well, I didn't know how inexperienced you were, but I could see you were naïve about men. And I thought of myself as sort of your older brother, even though I was a little younger. I could put aside my attraction to you and just hope you'd find someone who deserved you.]

I see. Well, I guess I'd sort of put aside my attraction to you, too. But by the time we went to Michael's wedding, I was starting to be aware that—our attraction, well, aside—our friendship was not at all a typical one for a woman and her housekeeper. When Michael wanted, or thought he wanted, custody of Jonathan, it was like he was trying to take our baby, I mean yours and mine. The four of us, five counting Mother, were starting to form one family.

Of course, that gave you and I even more reason not to cross the line. We couldn't break up the family.

And then I met a man that I felt only physical attraction to: Gus McGee, Mr. March. We had nothing in common, nothing to talk about. I felt very shallow.

But it was tempting to make him my #3, just to have that experience.

[Did you?]

No, I couldn't go through with it. Mother would've of course, without agonizing over it. But I knew by then that I was nothing like Mother. She's happy living like that, but I didn't want empty sex.

[Crunchy Crawlers?]

Yes, Crunchy Crawlers. Tony, when you talked me out of sleeping with Grant before my promotion, did you really think it would be empty?

[I don't know, Angela, maybe not empty, but not a serious relationship either, you know? And I just didn't think that would be right for you.]

But you had empty sex sometimes, especially after Marie died.

[Yeah, but I could separate love and sex. I wasn't sure you could.]

I wasn't sure either. I think I've always had to be in love, or at least believe that it was possible. Even with Grant. Who was still my second, although not my last at that point, since that was technically Michael.

[I think we're both running into the Grover Cleveland problem here.]

Excuse me?

[Well, he was the 22nd and the 24th president. It's hard for us to number how many people we've been with because we repeated a few.]

Well, my kissing list would be even more confusing, thanks to you.

[Yeah, well.]

To make it even more confusing, the next man I went out with was you.

[Oh, right, Jonathan's blind date.]

Yes. And we had to explain to him why we didn't just have sex, when we probably wouldn't have been clearly able to explain it to each other, or ourselves. And then a few weeks after that, we had to explain to him that we weren't "doing anything wrong," because the entire Fairfield PTA thought we were, well.

[Putting the "T & A" in PTA?]

Well, yes. And I remember you said that Joanne was accusing us of things we never did. And I said, "Or even thought about." But we both knew we had thought about it, at least the night we shared a motel bed. And we'd resisted. Yet here we were being punished for it anyway.

[And the kids.]

Yes, they were the innocent victims. They might've thought they wanted us to get together, but they were the ones who really suffered when the nasty if unfounded rumors spread. It was a reminder to me of what would happen if we ever did, well, stop resisting.

But when we ended up celebrating our second anniversary alone together, and it became about the two of us, rather than about two years of forming a blended family—

[Our own little Brady Bunch, but without the king-sized bed for Mom and Dad.]

Yes. And we were on the edge of discussing what we really meant to each other, even though I don't think we'd even sorted it out in our minds and hearts yet. But, well, you know how that turned out.

[Hey, at least that time I got further than pouring the glasses of champagne down the sink.]


	5. Two Can Say How It Really Feels

They sipped a little more champagne, slowly. Angela knew it was time for Tony to tell of his love life since moving to Connecticut. She didn't think he'd completed another full dozen in the last seven years, most of them living as a "family man," but she knew that she would have more cause for jealousy for this part of his story than she had for the pre-Connecticut part.

She didn't feel jealous over Marie. She felt like Marie was part of her, because Marie was part of Tony. Her eyes had filled with tears when Tony talked about Marie. She could see Tony and Marie as a wonderful young couple who had had too little time together. She hated knowing that Marie had died in such an ugly way, without Tony, wanting to spare him. Angela wished she had just held Tony while he remembered Marie, let him cry, but she knew that there would be other opportunities for that. That wasn't tonight's talk.

But she understood him better now. He'd probably always been flirtatious, charming, but she could see now how and why he was the way he was with women, including at times with Angela herself. He didn't want to be hurt. He'd been afraid to love another woman and then lose her. Maybe not to cancer, but there are other ways to lose someone.

Still, it would not be easy to hear Tony tell of the times he'd been with other women while living with Angela.

Tony had meant it that he hadn't been jealous of Angela's love life back then. He hadn't known how few men she'd actually been with, but he'd sensed at the time that, even with Michael's return, there was no one he would permanently lose Angela to. He'd thought they'd go on as they were, become better friends, increasingly raise the kids together, and share moments both silly and romantic.

And meanwhile, he'd date other women. But he found out that living in Connecticut wasn't like living in Brooklyn, or like being on the road. The rules were different, especially when he and Angela were blending families.

…

So, I guess you know who my #13 was.

[My Trish #1?]

Yeah. Trish Baldwin. She was a tall, pretty blonde who came on really strong. But she was your houseguest and I wasn't gonna do more than flirt a little. Then when my back was bothering me after sleeping on the couch, she came downstairs and started giving me a massage.

[I remember.]

Yeah, and you tried to warn me about her, but I wouldn't listen. So that night I took her to the Fairfield Inn. But I didn't think it was just a one-night stand, since she invited me to the reunion. Then she dumped me for Robert Andrew Holmby III and left you to tell me I was just gum on her shoe.

[You looked so handsome in your black tux, with the maroon bow tie and cummerbund, and the red rose in your lapel.]

You remember the colors?

[Of course.]

You had that long black number with the puffy sleeves, and it showed off your great back.

[It was the only feature I wasn't shy about then.]

Yeah. And when you almost asked me to the reunion, I almost said yes. But it was one thing to go to bed with a rich, successful New England woman I just met, and another to, well, cross the line with you. But I gave you the corsage so you'd look even more beautiful.

[Oh, Tony! It was so sweet. And I remember, the roses were pink.]

Yeah, well, they were out of red ones by the time I hit the florist's. I didn't know yet that they were your favorites, and obviously I hadn't bought them for you. But they looked great on your wrist. I wasn't jealous of Holmby. I was just happy for you.

[I don't think I was jealous of Trish. I just felt protective of you.]

Yeah, you were playing big sister for a change. And I was starting to do little things for you, not to be a good servant, but to be a thoughtful friend. Like having a dry martini just the way you like it as you came through the door every Friday. But I was still on the market, and I met a woman at the market, Wanda Benedict. Again, I was dating a woman who was one of your peers, but you were in a separate category, because you were my boss, my friend.

[Was she #14?]

No, I felt kind of burned by the Trish experience. Trish looked down on me because I was a housekeeper, and then with Wanda I was pretending to be rich at first. She saw through me, and she didn't care what I did for a living. But I still felt funny about it. So, no, we didn't do it.

My #14 was, uh, actually it was Cecily.

[Who's Cecily?]

One of the maids at Mrs. Randolf's. For a change in Connecticut, I didn't have to worry about being on the same level, economically or educationally, as a woman. It was fun but that's all it was, fun. And I really missed you.

So when Michael called and said I should take care of you, that was exactly what I wanted to do. For as long as you wanted me to.

[Oh, Tony!]

But as a housekeeper of course. Even when we woke up together, even when you ki—we kissed each other, even when we shared another bed, even when I "proposed to you," I had to keep reminding myself I couldn't cross the line.

So I went out with other women, like "Old Lady" Scranton, Sam's not so old teacher. And, no, she wasn't #15, since Sam was embarrassed enough about me dating Lois. And you went out with other men—you forgot "Cousin Andrew" by the way—

[Well, I didn't sleep with him.]

Yeah, I figured not. And not with Mr. March apparently.

[And you didn't sleep with Catwoman.]

She scared me, Angela! It's not funny!

[Sorry.]

And after Cassandra, well, there was, there was Gina Bonafetti.

[Yes.]

She was another girl from the old neighborhood, but younger than I was. Italian, beautiful, sweet, doting, a good cook, a good kisser.

[Yes, I saw.]

You saw me kiss Gina in the kitchen?

[Yes. And that was the first time I really felt jealous about you. It surprised me, the jealousy as well as the kiss. I knew I had feelings for you, but we'd agreed to not pursue them. And when you'd gone out with women before, even when you slept with Trish, I didn't feel so, so threatened. I knew this was the kind of woman you might be serious about.]

Yeah, I thought so, too, at first. I thought it was going to be like with Marie. But Gina didn't want to cook together. And she couldn't be playful like you could.

And I knew when she asked me to sleep with her, I'd have to marry her if I went through with it. And I didn't want to marry her. I was starting to realize I wanted a different kind of woman.

And then there was a woman with money and class and a French accent.

[And beauty and wit and wisdom.]

Well, yeah. Genevieve Pescher was perfect. And she wasn't snooty like Trish. I took her on a guided tour of Brooklyn and she loved it.

[And I threw you two together.]

Ay, I wasn't complaining. And she was a good dancer and a good kisser, too. And she liked me a lot. And I couldn't think of a reason why she shouldn't be #15. But you could.

[Yes, well.]

And you were willing to risk a $10 million account for me. But it turned out she was going to give you the account anyway, whether or not I slept with her. And I didn't, because she thought I was in love with you.

[Were you?]

Ay-oh, oh-ay, that's a little personal!

[Tony.]

Nah, not yet, I don't think. And she thought you were in love with me. Were you?

[Not yet. But getting closer. I didn't want to, well—]

Pimp me out?

[Yes. But I think I was also jealous of her, in a different way than Gina. I doubted she would marry you—]

Ay, why not? I wasn't good enough for her?

[No, I just think she was looking for a whirlwind New York romance, and you were the perfect romantic New Yorker.]

Well, thank you. And, yeah, it probably would've just been one wonderful night or two. She would go back to France and I'd go home to you.

And the next potential #15, well, that was a little too close to home.

[Diane Wilmington?]

Yeah. She came on even stronger than Trish did, but she was staying with us for who knew how long and it was a risky situation. Besides, I knew she didn't see me as an equal. I mean, I was calling her Mrs. Wilmington even when she had her arms around me. And she was surprised when I said no.

[And then she saw what was between us.]

Angela! There was nothing between us!

[I mean the warmth and the support, the friendship.]

Oh, yeah, that. And later there was another chance to explore what more there was between us, and what more could be between us. But my appendix didn't cooperate.

[Your subconscious did.]

Yeah. When I told you I loved you, you probably wondered what I meant.

[Yes.]

I couldn't have told you then. I knew you were special to me. I knew I wanted more with you. But I also knew that it was still too early, even after what we'd been through.

[I know. And that's why I couldn't confront you with what you said. It wouldn't have been fair. I'd be taking advantage of you, in a different way than I once thought you'd taken advantage of me. I wanted to wait till we were both fully conscious, in every sense.]

Yeah. So I thought we'd keep seeing other people, but no one else came along for me for awhile. And then we were best man and matron of honor at the Ferguson wedding, and, oh, Angela, I imagined you as my bride!

[Oh, Tony! I imagined you as my groom!]

You did?

[Yes, you lifted my veil and kissed me.]

Hey, you kissed me.


	6. One Can Wish Upon a Star

Rather than argue about who kissed whom in their shared wedding daydream, Tony and Angela decided to recreate the kiss. They were both aware that it would not be like their future real wedding-day kiss, because there was no audience. And it was easy to shift from sweet and tender to something too hot for a church.

As always, it was Tony who ended it first. "Ay, Angela, this is great, but we've still got five years to cover."

"Oh, right. I guess I'd better talk about Geoffrey with a G."

…

Even though we could daydream about a wedding, we still weren't ready to face what it would be like if we dated. I think you in particular were intimidated by how Fred and Ginger reacted to the idea of a boss romantically involved with her housekeeper.

And you encouraged me to dance with Geoffrey, to go out with him. I liked him but being in his arms was nothing like dancing with you. And when my feet were so tired that night, you gave me one of your great foot-rubs, but then you stopped.

[You were enjoying it too much, Angela.]

Yes, well, you're very good at them.

[They were a way to touch you, like dancing, without crossing a line. Except sometimes we almost did.]

Yes. So Geoffrey. He was my most serious post-divorce relationship. Well, I was still unknowingly married, thanks to Brian, but at least I was no longer bigamous. I was fond of Geoffrey and there were none of the complications of my relationship with you. I didn't love him but I thought there was that possibility.

It felt good to have a steady boyfriend, to have someone to spend time with. And yes, to kiss and other things with.

[Other things?]

Tony, you know he was my #3. And I think you know where it happened.

[Ye Olde Fairfield Inn?]

Yes. Tony, what exactly did you hear with a glass against the wall?

[Nothing, Angela! Just you know, some smooching and some "let's get more comfortable." But I could see where it was heading.]

Yes, well, and it did. Head there.

[So, uh, how was he?]

Tony.

[We've talked about everyone else.]

Yes, but those were all people that the other person didn't really know. I mean, other than Trish, I didn't really know any of your, well, your women that well. And you met Michael and Grant but you didn't really interact with them like you did with Geoffrey. You weren't friends like you were with Jeffrey with a J, but you seemed to like each other.

[I did like him, Angela. I mean, he wouldn't have been a good husband for you, but I was OK with him as your boyfriend. I wasn't really even that jealous, not till he proposed.]

So are you jealous now?

[Yeah, maybe a little. I mean, he got to be with you.]

Well, you were with your little lasagna that night.

[That's different.]

Why? Because you're a man?

[No, it's not that. I'd already had sex with Tanya. Off and on for almost twenty years at that point. It was usually good but it was just sex. But you, well, I didn't know Geoff was only your third, but I did know that you hadn't been with very many men. And I knew you probably saw this as a big step, emotionally, too. So, yeah, I guess I was jealous, even if I didn't know it at the time.]

I was jealous of you and Tanya. Even if it was "just sex," I saw that you two had a playful relationship. You had fun together. She wasn't a threat in the way Gina had been, but I knew you found her obvious sensuality appealing. I knew I couldn't compete with that.

[Oh, Baby, you're very sensual! Or sensuous, I always get those two mixed up.]

But you didn't know that yet. I didn't know that about myself yet. I was still the uptight Angela who covered herself up as much as possible. Even with Geoffrey, I felt shy about my body. Luckily, he was very patient and tender.

But he wasn't passionate. I don't think he had strong emotions about anything, except his cars. He grew to love me in his way, but it was never the storminess of Michael. Even our arguments fizzled out quickly. But I thought that was a good thing.

I should've felt secure with him, but I never fully relaxed. I felt like I was playing a role, that I could never show all my sides to him. Even in bed, I did what I thought he expected of me.

A lot of the relationship was me going through the motions. Even when I thought I wanted him to propose to me, it had less to do with him or me, and more to do with what I thought should happen at that stage. When he did propose, thinking that it was I wanted, I had to face the reality of what marrying him would mean. And you helped me face that reality.

I didn't love him. I probably would never love him. And as someone told me a few months later, love is important.

[Yeah.]

So after that, part of me felt like I shouldn't date again until I knew what I wanted. And part of me wondered what I'd missed out on by a life of caution. So I made that list of all the spontaneous things I wanted to do.

[Including Mike Ott at Inspiration Point.]

Yes. I realized I did not want Jake the Snake as my #4. And since you were playing big brother again, I had you take me there in a platonic way. Until you saw my list.

[Yeah, well, I wanted you to complete it.]

But we didn't make out. It was a lovely kiss, but you didn't take it further.

[Well, yeah, at that point, Angela, I wanted to but it wasn't like up at the lake a few months ago. We weren't dating, we weren't trying to go forward. So I just wanted to give you a nice little memory.]

You did, thank you. And then, well, it wasn't a conscious decision at first, but I stopped trying to date anyone else. I wanted to just enjoy what we had, because it was special, even without the physical side.

And then, well, you can tell me about Frankie when it's your turn, but let me tell you how I felt.

[If you want to.]

You had sort of thrown me into Geoffrey's arms, and I sort of felt like I'd thrown you into Frankie's arms, by letting her "win you" at the auction. But I couldn't try to talk you out of marrying her. I couldn't climb a ladder and write "ON" on your window.

I knew that this time I might lose you. Frankie was everything that Gina was, plus she had a life of her own, an education, and a sense of humor. She could offer you everything all the other women had, everything I could.

[Not everything, Angela.]

Well, I didn't know that. I hated to think of losing you, even if you weren't mine to lose.

[That's how I felt about you and Geoff.]

Yes, well. So I went to a therapist and she made me face my feelings for you. For the first time, I admitted out loud, to myself and to another person, that I loved you. Not just as a housekeeper, not just as a friend. The therapist thought I should tell you, but when you told me you weren't going to marry Frankie, I thought it could wait.

So I let it wait. Except when I said it out loud in my sleep. And even then, you and I didn't discuss it.

I decided to just wait till the moment was right. And meanwhile we grew closer. Maybe it was that I knew how I felt, or maybe that I wasn't dating even casually, but I could really focus on you, appreciate what we had, even if it might never grow into something more.

And meanwhile, the kids were growing up. In the blink of an eye, they were both teenagers. Jonathan starting to date, Sam getting ready for college. And you went to college. You started to think about a life after housekeeping, even if neither of us then knew what it would be like.

I had to face the fact that someday you would have an education, a profession. Maybe I didn't care anymore what the Freds and Gingers thought, but I knew that in some ways it would be easier for us to become romantically involved if you weren't my housekeeper anymore. But I also knew that that would mean you moving out, having your own life.

There would be none of those little daily, domestic moments that we shared. I don't just mean you making dry martinis and double chocolate cakes with walnuts. But I mean saying good morning and goodnight to each other, and all the things we said in between. No more renting a movie when neither of us had a date, whether or not the kids had plans. Yes, we might become a couple, but it would be different if we weren't living together. We would have dates. It would be more of an event, not something we drifted into.

And meanwhile, we were, as we had been for years, sleeping down the hall from each other. Sometimes you were like a roommate, and sometimes, well, you were the man I loved, the very sexy man I loved.

Sometimes we'd bicker like brother and sister, or a married couple, and other times there was a flirtation between us, maybe light as air, or maybe heavy as anvils.

And it seemed like it would go on like that forever, or at least till you graduated. But then I got the account for that Jamaican resort and, um, is there any champagne left?


	7. Two Can Make That Wish Come True, Yeah

Tony refilled their glasses and they again sipped slowly. They both knew that the three years in which Angela had almost married Geoffrey and then decided to wait for Tony had been very different for Tony, although there were parallels.

…

Tanya aside, I didn't really see anybody while you were dating Geoff. Maybe I was waiting to see how that turned out. I don't know. But after you guys broke up, it was like it was OK for me to start dating casually again. So when Casey Fryman and I met and hit off, it seemed like a good idea to start with her.

I was, what, 34? Not even middle-aged yet. And I took good care of myself, so I thought, _Yeah, I can keep up with a 22-year-old. Even in bed._

[So she was your #15?]

Ay, a little jealous there, Angela?

[Maybe a little.]

I know you think I was cradle-robbing, but she wasn't some young bimbo. She was a vice-president for Armando Ghia, very smart, very ambitious, very creative, very energetic.

[Thank you, Tony. That makes me feel so un-jealous.]

Ay, Angela, it was good. It was good sex. But everything else was wearing me out, the jogging and the ice-dancing and the indoor soccer. It was like if the Benedetti twins were Olympic athletes.

And you were going through some sort of thing about your age. And you thought you had to dress like some New Wave rock star to get the account, showing off your legs.

[And I didn't even get the account.]

Well, he liked your legs at least.

[So did you, as I recall.]

Yeah, and funny coincidence, but I think you started wearing your skirts a little shorter every year after that, even when you were dressed for work.

[You noticed.]

You bet I noticed! Was it for me, Angela? To tease me or seduce me or something?

[In a way. I think it was related to not being able to reveal my feelings for you.]

So you revealed your knees instead?

[I suppose. Also, I was becoming more confident, partly thanks to you. You made me feel beautiful, you treated me like a beautiful woman. Michael had never told me I was beautiful.]

You're kidding!

[No, I'm not. Oh, there were little compliments along the way. It was the same with Grant. Geoffrey, however, could be over the top sometimes, and I liked the flattery even when I felt a little uncomfortable. But none of them, none of the men I dated, year after year told me how wonderful I was, like you did. And not just my looks, but you told me how smart I was. You made me believe that I could rebuild my life after getting fired, that I could start my own business and make it a success. You believed in me, Tony. And you thought I had great legs.]

Well, it was just the truth. Not even the whole truth. Lots of times I had to hold back, not compliment you too much. But I'd try to say it in other ways.

[I know.]

Still, there was that uncrossable line. Yeah, the kids were growing up. I was no longer worried that I'd have to uproot Sam, hurt little Jonathan. But it would still have affected them if we got together and then broke up. And you were still my boss.

And then Frankie reentered my life. And, yeah, she was all those things you talked about. And she was a lawyer who drank beer out of the bottle, who knew opera and baseball, who spoke French with a Harvard accent with a touch of Pitkin Avenue. I was infatuated with her. And maybe there was a little bit of wanting her because I couldn't have her back in high school.

I was flattered that she wanted me. That she'd pay $1000 for my "services." And I knew Mrs. Rossini wasn't pimping me out, but I was happy to throw in non-housekeeping services for free.

[So she was #16.]

Yeah. And she was old-fashioned enough to think we should get married afterwards. And she was modern enough to do the proposing.

[What did you say? I mean when she first asked you.]

Well, I didn't say anything. I was too stunned. The sex was good—

[You always say that.]

Well, it is, Angela, most of the time. I like sex. I like it with the women I've been with. Sometimes it's great, and sometimes it's not so great, but mostly it's, you know.

[Good?]

Yeah. So we'd just had some good sex, and then she sits up and says, "I could get to like this."

And I say, "Me, too," because, you know, I thought it'd be good to date, maybe have something a little less casual than what I'd been doing since Marie died.

Then she says, "I could get to like it permanently."

[So she didn't get down on one knee and propose?]

No, only one woman's been willing to do that for me. The same woman who called up just then and wanted to know where I kept the dish-washing detergent.

[I'm sorry I ruined the moment.]

No, you're not. And in a way, I wasn't either. After I hung up, I told Frankie I needed some time alone to think things over. So I went home. But Frankie was as impatient as Geoff. They both demanded an answer a few hours later, and, well, just like you, I said no.

And after that, well, there was Kelly, but I just wasn't attracted to her. And then Betty again, who I turned down because I preferred my "wife." Who was still married to her first husband, as it turned out, although we didn't find that out until a few months after our "first date."

[Yes, that's right. How funny, I was still cheating on Brian!]

Yeah. Oh, and there was a ski instructor, Amber, I met while on vacation with Sam, who scared her off by making her think there was something going on with you and me.

[I'll have to thank Sam for that.]

I don't think she was doing it to protect your interests. She just felt neglected when we were supposed to be having father-daughter time. Anyway, obviously I wasn't gonna sleep with Amber with Sam around. And I was feeling more and more like a "family man." When I tried to be a party animal, a swinging bachelor, living in Mona's apartment, I just kept wanting to move back home, across the driveway.

You're right. This couldn't go on indefinitely. But by this point I was going to college. I didn't know what it would mean for you and me. I hoped it would bring us closer, as friends at least. We could talk about literature and economics and all these things that you knew about and I'd felt ignorant of. I didn't have a major, so obviously I didn't know what I'd be someday when I wasn't your housekeeper.

And I didn't know what I'd be to you, what I wanted to be to you. Your boyfriend, your husband, or what? I knew my future had to include you. I just didn't know how.

And then, yeah, Jamaica happened. I'd noticed the changes in you, how life and I had loosened you up over the past five years. You weren't the shy, conservative Angela Bower who was surprised to see me on her doorstep. But it really hit me in Jamaica, because you cut loose even more. All those years I spent telling you to lighten up and have fun. And, boy, did you ever!

And I was jealous, not of anyone in particular, or maybe just of the guy who'd finally get you someday, take you away from me. Then you said that the best times of your life were with me. And I wanted you so bad!

[Oh, Tony!]

It was lust, and it was tropical moonlight, and it was that long orange sundress, and the orange panties you'd flashed me. But it was also this voice in my head that said _Take her, don't let her get away, hold her so tight, be inside her!_

[Mmm, Tony!]

But the "good Tony," the one that made me be a "monk" with you even when we shared a narrow bed and one set of pajamas, pulled back before it went beyond kissing. I couldn't let lust and fear make me lose you by trying to keep you. And you understood.

[Yes.]

Oh, Sweetheart, why are you crying? Was it wrong to wait even then?

[No, Tony, I believed it was the right decision. You were confused about your future, so you couldn't plan for our future. And we both knew by then that it would change everything if we, as you put it four years before, lost each other as friends. It's just—]

I know. I must've seemed like a hypocrite later. Do you want to talk about that tonight? We don't have to.

[I think we need to. But first we need to talk about the months leading up to that.]

OK, we came back from Jamaica. Even though we didn't have sex, just acknowledging the possibility, in a different way than before, well, it changed things. And I was confused, very confused. You seemed to have it all figured out. I didn't know about your therapy session two years before, but I did have this sense that you knew how you felt about me, while I was still sorting out my feelings.

Some of the time I thought I shouldn't be dating other women, which is why I broke things off with Professor Joan. And other times I thought, _Hey, I'm single, and I didn't make you any promises, _which is why I went out with Vickie from the health club, and flirted with our tenant Michelle.

And at the same time, I know I was acting crazy with you. I'd flirt with you and then push you away. And I started getting really jealous, in a different way than a year later, when I had less right but more reason to be. And then it turned out the only affair you were having was an imaginary one with me!

And then we got married. On accident.

[That's right! I was single for less than a year. God, I've been married a total of thirty years! Counting you, Michael, and Brian.]

Explain to me how the one who didn't see you naked got the longest marriage with you.

[I don't want to think about it.]

Well, we'll have to start fresh.

[With you seeing me naked, or with us being married?]

Both, I hope. Wow, if we get married when I'm 40, I'll be 60 before I break Brian's record.

[I'm sure you'll still be as handsome.]

And I'm sure you'll still look great naked.

[Tony!]

Sorry. So, yeah, those were some crazy, wonderful months. And then.

[And then.]

Angela, we don't have to talk about her.

[Tonight? Or ever?]

Whatever you want.

[No, Tony, we do. We didn't really talk about her at the time, and afterwards we sort of pretended it never happened. But we know it did.]

Yeah. So should I tell you how it happened?

[I think so.]

I've had over a year and a half to think about this. And tonight has helped in a way, but I still can't fully explain it to myself. With everyone else, from Tanya to Frankie, even with the one-night stand with Trish, there was something leading up to it. It built, from attraction to flirtation and so on.

But this, well, I know it blindsided you, because it blindsided me. Not that she set out to seduce me. I think it caught her off guard, too. But I started out the evening just finding her kind of annoying. Yeah, she was smart and pretty, but so are a lot of other women I've met at Ridgemont College, and elsewhere.

But then we connected, things we had in common. Not like with Marie and Frankie and Gina and all the Brooklyn girls. We didn't have similar pasts, but we had similar presents, maybe similar futures. Even then, I just thought we might be friends, not close friends, but friends.

And then we were alone in the room after the rest of the study group got tired and gave up for the night. We were sitting there in the dark—

[Looking at slides of fat, naked women, as Jonathan put it.]

Not exactly. But, yeah, I guess you could call it erotic art. And even the other art started to seem erotic after that. And I turned and I kissed her. And then, well.

[And your monk side didn't speak up? You didn't tell her, "Let's wait till we get married"?]

Angela.

[What was she to you, Tony? The kind you fool around with or the kind you marry?]

Angela, please.

[When you told me about her, I thought, _Well, I must be neither._]

Baby, please, I know I hurt you, but don't do this!

[She had you, Tony! She knows what it's like to wake up with you on purpose! To be your girlfriend, not your pretend wife. To be acknowledged to the world. To sleep with you, in every sense. To feel you moving inside her! To be wrapped around you and never want to let you go!]

Don't, Baby, please, please don't! Hit me, call me bad names, but don't hurt yourself, don't hurt us like this!

[You hurt us! You broke us! And then you think loving me is going to make it all better?]

I know that's not enough. I need you to love me, too.

[I do love you, Tony! That's why this still kills me!]

It kills me, too, Angela.


	8. One Can Stand Alone in the Dark

Tony and Angela clasped each other desperately, not in passion but in grief. They wept like they'd never wept together. If you had asked them what they were grieving for and they'd been able to give you a coherent answer, it would've been for their relationship before Kathleen. What they had rebuilt from the ashes was something else, much as it might resemble their first six relatively carefree years.

Angela thought of how, after she lost her job at Wallace and McQuade, her future seeming so uncertain, she had told Tony that she didn't usually cry in front of people. He'd replied that he wasn't people, he was Tony.

He was thinking of how much he'd wanted to comfort her after betraying her, but he hadn't had that right. He had been so protective of her with other men, and then he'd cheated on her, after telling her that he wanted to wait till he married her before sleeping with her. If anyone else had done that to Angela, Tony would've beaten him to a pulp. But back then, he couldn't even let her cry on his shoulder.

Eventually the tears subsided, but they still held each other. And they knew that, even though they hadn't really wrapped up Kathleen, it was Angela's turn again.

…

I guess I should tell you about being tempted in the Dairy State.

[Angela! I thought you didn't do anything!]

I didn't. But I was tempted. I tried to remember that when you confessed to me about, about her. I couldn't let myself get angry at you then. I didn't want to lose your friendship.

[If you did, it would've been my fault.]

Tony, I know, rationally, you didn't sleep with, with Kathleen to hurt me. If I'd been with Henry—

[Henry?]

Henry Desmond, the ad exec in Wisconsin. If I'd slept with him, it wouldn't have been to hurt you, or make you jealous, or anything like that. I would've done it because, well, it had been a long time since I'd been with anyone, and I thought that you and I would have to wait another couple years for you to finish school.

[Not very flattering to Henry.]

Oh, I liked him. I was attracted to him, although he was an inch shorter than I am. He was blond and cute, gentlemanly and sweet. He was well read, with literary aspirations. He'd lived in New York for a few years and had a hip sense of humor. But we didn't have a history together. He didn't know about me tumbling down the stairs in my slip or hoping my son wouldn't make the audio-visual squad.

That's not to say that he and I couldn't have built up a history together. But it would've meant giving up a possible future with you. And by then, I really didn't want to lose you.

Even after your confession, I wanted to hold on to my friendship with you. After all, it'd survived our wanting to date and have sex with each other, so maybe it could survive you dating and having sex with someone new. And I meant what I said about our journey. You had told me in Jamaica you saw me in your future, you just weren't sure as what. So I wanted to stay in your future, at least as your friend.

It wasn't easy of course. It didn't help that you seemed so confused. You couldn't even tell me if it was a one-night stand with Kathleen or if you wanted more.

I could've waited for you to figure it out, but I'd already been waiting for you to figure out the two of us, and you hadn't managed that in six years. So I started dating again.

[Broadening your horizons?]

Well, yes. Not just by seeing other men but also exploring who I was. That's why I got up and sang "Fever" in that club and did some other "fifth gear" things, as you put it.

[Angela, did you, well, I probably don't have the right to ask, but did you?]

Did I have a #4? No. I decided I couldn't take that step unless I felt like I was in a secure relationship. Which I wasn't. And I didn't date Peter or Christopher or even Andy long enough. And then I found myself raising another child with you, and I tried to shift my energy to that.

[Do you think we'd have gotten together if Billy hadn't gone back to his grandmother's?]

I don't know. I think him being here helped us heal a little, to move on without talking everything out, although there are still scars of course.

[Yeah. Even after Kathleen and I broke up, I didn't know what to say. Even after you and I were both single. "Sorry" didn't seem to cover it.]

No. Anyway, I don't think we'd have waited till he grew up to get together. At least I hope not.

[Me, too!]

But when he left, suddenly I looked around and our little tomboy was a woman in college who'd already broken off an engagement. Our King of the Reptiles was old enough to go joy-riding in your Jeep to impress a girl. The kids weren't really kids anymore.

And we'd gone through a "divorce." And you almost said my name when you talked about how you wanted to be married on purpose again someday. And I knew, despite all that we'd gone through, I still saw you as the only man I could ever deliberately marry. Why are you shaking your head, Tony?

[Because, gee whiz, Angela, you've been married three times! Divorced three times! What am I gonna tell Father Marconi?]

Oh, Tony!

[Ay, at least I got you to laugh again.]

You almost always do.

[I try. Also, I feel sorry for you. Thirty years of marriage, and hardly any sex!]

Well, some of that's your fault.

[I'll see that your fourth husband makes up for it.]

I hope so. Anyway, we ended up in bed together again after that, on the train to Washington. I know you wanted more to happen, but I think it would've been the wrong time and place. And for me, just lying next to you, knowing that you were there, when I thought I'd never have that again, meant so much to me!

And when Christine Morrison pursued you, I realized I couldn't risk losing you.

[I didn't feel that way about her, Angela. And I wasn't that stupid. Not at that point.]

Nonetheless, I had to do the show & tell.

[Yeah. And it made me even more confused. You said you liked me and you kissed me. But I didn't know what you meant by it.]

I know. I wasn't ready to show or tell more. But by the time our anniversary rolled around, I was ready. Or I thought I was, until I wondered if you weren't ready to see or hear.

[I don't know if I was. I mean, it sounds crazy, but I still hadn't said to myself, _I love Angela. Not just as a boss, not just as a friend. _So how was I gonna tell you? But with the watch and the fortune-teller and everything, I had to decide. Was I more likely to lose you if I went after you or if I didn't?]

I think you were more surprised than I was when you blurted out, "Because I love you!"

[I was. But as soon as I said it, I knew it was true.]

You said you'd loved me for a long time. When do you think it started?

[I didn't have a moment of revelation, unless you count that moment in the swan boat. Looking back, I can see my feelings for you getting deeper, wider, but it was all so gradual. I could say I loved you from the day I showed up at your door, but I didn't know you then. I could even say I loved you when I was eleven, puppy love at least. But I love you more every year, every month, every week, every day than the one before.]

Oh, Tony!

[So that brings us up to date. We're done reviewing the past, right?]

Not quite. There's still the recent past.

[Ay-oh, oh-ay! I know I haven't been seeing anybody on the side, and you better not have.]

I mean with each other. We started out with such passion and then we settled into coziness. It's like we skipped a step, without actually having sex.

[Yeah, I know. I think at first, there was that burst of released energy. I, and probably you, too, didn't care about waiting till we got married, didn't care that I'm still not done with school. We just really wanted to do it! Like me and Tanya back in high school, except that I love you.]

Yes. And then things went wrong, with my Jag in the lake and everything.

[Yeah. And we cooled it down, slowed it down. It was a sweet phase, very lovey-dovey. I'm glad we had it. But, yeah, maybe it's time to heat things up again.]

Or at least talk about it.

[Yeah. Angela, when we do finally go to bed together, are you gonna be comparing yourself to what you think the other women were like?]

Probably. I think that's inevitable, even knowing more than I did, or maybe because I know more than I did before this talk. I think even you, although you've got only three predecessors, may have moments of wondering how you, um, stack up against Michael, Grant, and Geoffrey.

[Angela, let me say this. I have kissed you. I've necked with you. I've hugged you. I've danced with you. I've exchanged smoldering glances with you. And, yes, I've seen you naked. And maybe I'm jumping to conclusions, but putting all that together, I think you are going to be absolutely incredible as a lover.]

Oh, Tony! That's what I think of you.

[Well, yeah, I'm Italian, what'd you expect?]

Oh, Tony.

[But, Angela, you haven't seen me naked.]

Well, not yet, no.

[Of course we could change that.]

Here? Now?

[Yeah, why not? We've got the place to ourselves tonight.]

What, are you going to do a strip tease?

[Only if you'll stuff twenties in my shorts.]

Tony!

[OK, make it tens. Fives?]

You are kidding, right?

[Come on, Angela, it'd be a great way to resolve my insecurities about our disparate incomes.]

College has warped your mind.

[So I can't put this in my Economics paper?]

Tony, sit down!

[OK, you're right. I can't do this. Not without musical accompaniment.]

Never know how much I love you.

[A little louder, Angela.]

Never know how much I care.

[Oh, yeah!]

When you put your arms around me—

[These arms?]

I get a fever that's so hard to bear!

[Here goes the tie, Angela!]

You give me fever!

[Good catch, Angela!]

{What on earth are you two doing?}


	9. Two Can Make the Light Shine Through

Scene IX: The living room, a moment later

(Tony turns self-consciously to look at Mona, who's just entered from the kitchen. Angela hides the tie under a seat cushion, as if it's evidence.)

ANGELA: We're spending a quiet evening in our living room, Mother. What are you doing?

MONA: I need to borrow some champagne.

TONY: Mona, it's— (He tries to look at his watch and then remembers he left it on the little table.)

MONA: Eleven forty-five, so I don't have time for you to explain yourselves. Just hand over the champagne, pronto.

ANGELA: Mother, your lack of planning does not constitute an emergency on our part.

MONA: Pithy, Angela. No wonder you have your own ad agency.

TONY: Mona, why didn't you buy champagne? It's not like New Year's Eve arrived unexpectedly.

MONA: I ran out of that champagne. This is to celebrate a more important milestone.

ANGELA: I'm afraid to ask.

TONY: I'll bite. What milestone, Mona?

MONA: I reached one thousand.

TONY: (to Angela) Now I'm afraid to ask.

MONA: I didn't think I would make it this year, but Mr. One Thousand came through just in time.

TONY: (shocked) You've been with one thousand men this year?

MONA: Of course not!

TONY: Oh, I was gonna say—

MONA: That's over a lifetime.

TONY: Wait, so if you're sixty—

MONA: Never mind how many years it took. The point is I've finally reached that goal.

TONY: Wow, that's really—

ANGELA: Disgusting.

TONY: I was gonna say mind-boggling.

MONA: Angela, just because you never made it to the double digits—

ANGELA: I could've if I wanted to, Mother.

MONA: Of course, Dear. As for Mr. February, I'm sure he could've made it to the triple digits if he hadn't been fallen for a certain peroxide blonde.

ANGELA: Thank you, Mother, for cheapening our relationship.

MONA: Well, somebody has to.

TONY: Listen, Mona, maybe we haven't had your quantity, but we're doing all right with quality.

MONA: I had quality, too.

ANGELA: Mother, we really don't want to hear about your lurid past.

MONA: I mean your father, Angela. And I would take Robert in exchange for the 999 others.

TONY: Great, I'm gonna cry again!

MONA: Again?

ANGELA: Mother, take the champagne and leave.

MONA: (grabbing the bottle and the glasses) Happy New Year, you two.

TONY: See you in '92, Mone!

MONA: Have fun making and breaking resolutions!

ANGELA: Goodnight, Mother. (Mona waves and exits out the back door.)

TONY: Where was I?

ANGELA: I think the moment has passed, Tony.

TONY: So you don't want to see me naked?

ANGELA: I didn't say that.

TONY: Oh. Uh, Angela, I know I was saying we shouldn't have the talk about our pasts the same night we have our first time together, but do you wanna?

ANGELA: Well, I'd suggest we discuss this over champagne, but that's no longer possible.

TONY: Right. Well, look at it this way. We're getting married next year, so we know we're gonna have sex in '92. So if we wait till after midnight—

ANGELA: We still won't be married.

TONY: No, but it's not like you've never had sex with an ex-husband before.

ANGELA: True. Wow, it would be the first time I've had sex when I'm not married to Brian!

TONY: Yeah, but I can't really judge you because I technically committed adultery with Kathleen.

ANGELA: Ugh, that's right!

TONY: But we're both single now.

ANGELA: Yes, but you're not done with college yet.

TONY: One more quarter, that's close enough.

ANGELA: You're still my housekeeper.

TONY: Then I can make the bed in the morning.

ANGELA: I'll help you. And you can help me unmake it now.

TONY: Yeah, Angela?

ANGELA: Yes, Tony. I'll be your #18 if you'll be my #4.

TONY: (grinning) You can count on it. (She groans at the pun. And then he scoops her off the couch and into his arms. She giggles and then sighs happily.)

ANGELA: (as he carries her towards the stairs) I can't believe this is really happening.

TONY: (shifting to a fireman's lift) Oh, I'm sure with our luck I'll throw my back out, or something else will go wrong.

ANGELA: (as he mounts the stairs) Like Jonathan will call from the ski lodge with a broken leg.

TONY: Or Sam's date will have too much to drink, and she'll need us to go pick her up from the party.

ANGELA: Or Mother will barge in with more demands.

TONY: Or Mrs. Rossini will have a crisis.

ANGELA: Or the sex won't live up to expectations.

TONY: (as they reach the balcony) Well, we know that'll happen. But I'll settle for half as good as I hope.

ANGELA: (as they round the corner and start to disappear from sight) Oh, good, no pressure then.

Scene X: Angela's bedroom, several hours later

(Tony and Angela are spooning in their sleep, the covers up to their stomachs. They look cozy and contented. He's shirtless and she's wearing the sapphire blue nightie that he saw her in his first night in the house. He wakes up and grins, glad that this is real. He squeezes her tighter.)

ANGELA: (waking up) Mmm, morning, Tony.

TONY: Morning, Angela. Happy New Year.

ANGELA: Didn't we already celebrate last night?

TONY: Yeah, we celebrated late into the night.

ANGELA: (giggling) I remember!

TONY: So, Angela, tell me about your #4.

ANGELA: You really want to know?

TONY: I really want to know.

ANGELA: (rolling over to face him) My #4 was warm and passionate, a little demanding and very giving. He was playful but intense. Athletic but sensitive.

TONY: I meant in bed, Angela.

ANGELA: So did I.

TONY: (blushing) Oh.

ANGELA: Tell me about your #18, Tony.

TONY: Shy at first but sensual, or sensuous, underneath. Creative but methodical. Beautiful, inside and out. And flawless.

ANGELA: Oh, Tony!

TONY: In fact, she was last chronologically, but #1 in all other ways.

ANGELA: So was my #4.

TONY: We saved the best for last?

ANGELA: Oh, I think we're a long way from "last."

TONY: Good point. So, Angela, I did the math.

ANGELA: What math?

TONY: Let's say your mother was single and sexually active for about half her life—

ANGELA: Oh, that math.

TONY: That's like 30 years of 33 guys a year.

ANGELA: Approximately, yes.

TONY: And if we get married when I'm 40 and I live to be 70—

ANGELA: (catching on) And we have sex just 33 times a year—

TONY: Yeah, we'll do it 1000 times. Or we could do it 50 times a year and reach the goal by the time I tie with Brian for your longest marriage.

ANGELA: So I only get 999 more times with you?

TONY: Well, I didn't say we had to stop at 1000. (They give each other The Look. The scene fades to black.)

THE END


End file.
